The Dream
by Jilsen
Summary: A winter's day and a snowy path. Where does it lead?


_A/N: Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any characters associated with them. I make no money from this story or any other I write and post here. My stories are presented strictly for your reading pleasure (or not, as the case may be.)_

The following was inspired by the poem "_I Dreamed_" by Emma Wright. I have changed the content slightly from the original.

_I dreamed a dream and in that dream_

_I dreamed that I had dreamed a dream_

_Of hope and love come true,_

_I dreamed a dream of you._

* * *

An arctic wind howls through the trees and along the forest path. Snowflakes pinwheel in the icy air. The morning's light is timid as if the sun is reluctant to rise, as if the cold is too great even for it.

The storm was predicted. People were warned, told to take precautions and avoid travel. She has turned a deaf ear and bravely trudges along the forest path. The wind blows stinging snow into her face. She tucks her head into her chest and follows the disappearing path.

She thinks only of him. She had called him last night, around midnight, and told him she couldn't make it. Fate had conspired to strand her a hundred miles away in a wayside hotel.

Bitterly disappointed, he had turned to drink. The alcohol, having the desired effect, had produced a deep sleep. He had slumbered through the night and into the wee hours of the morn.

Now, something has roused him. He cocks an ear and listens. What has disturbed his sleep?

Pale, buttery light glows around the edges of the curtains. Wind buffets the cabin and he wonders, is it the wind that has awoken him?

Then, in the distance, he hears a voice, so soft and light it seems so far away. Has he imagined it? His brain is foggy this morning. The drink last night has made him slow to comprehend. He lays in bed and listens. Finally, he hears the voice again echoing softly through the cabin. It grows louder, and he realizes, it is _her voice. _

The bedroom door opens and magically she is here, a beautiful silhouette framed by the doorway. The morning light turns her hair into a fiery mane of tarnished gold.

He pushes to his elbows and rubs sleep from his eyes. His is tangled in the sheets and his hair is mussed. She wears a teasing smile as she approaches, happy to have found him thus.

"You have slept late this morning," she chides in a low voice and boldly clambers onto the bed to lie beside him.

He wonders what good fortune has brought her through the storm and to his room. And to his bed.

She props herself on an elbow and takes in his male form. He is nude, his chest and arms visible to her. The sheets cover what remains, but she is content with what she sees – a broad chest chiseled to perfection and powerful biceps.

His face is a study in harmony – strong jaw, long straight nose, and rich brown eyes that see nothing but her.

The angry wind rages outside and rattles the glass, but it does not distract him from her.

He almost asks how she has made it here this morning – to his bed – but he doesn't want to break the spell that has befallen him. Whatever magic has brought her here, to him, he doesn't care. He leans over and kisses her.

It is a promise of things to come.

She leans back as if to protest the kiss, but he can read her thoughts. Her eyes betray her. Her true feelings are there for him to see. She can hide nothing from him.

He makes his move and pulls her on top of him. She is startled, but pleasantly so. His boldness has aroused her.

He cups her head with his hands and pulls her face to his. He kisses her with a hunger she's only dreamed of. From the depths of his soul has risen a passion and need he's never known before. Surging to the surface, it fuels his kisses.

He breaks for air and his breath comes in ragged bursts. He gazes at her – a goddess above him. Silken hair falls on his chest and shoulders. Her lips, bruised by his hungry kisses, are a dark russet.

"I want you," he says, his voice thick with emotion.

He gently rolls her onto her back. He cherishes this woman. She is his soul mate. The yin to his yang. She possesses the ability to calm him when his anger flares or prompt him to great action in times of crisis. Quite simply, she completes him.

Her arms circle his neck and draw him close. It is her way of saying he has delayed too long in kissing her. He quickly remedies the situation.

He has new ground to explore and his lips travel to her neck. She moans softly next to his ear. Her moans invade his senses and drive him on, to more uncharted territory. Wisely, he takes his time. His exploration is slow and thorough.

Her hands delight in the hard planes of his body – his chest, his arms, his back. Her fervent touch fires his passion and urges him on.

Her clothes are a hindrance of which he swiftly disposes. Piece by piece, each is removed and tossed aside. Now, there are no barriers to what lies ahead.

Flesh to flesh, they lay together, bodies entwined. New sensations engulf the lovers and soon, they are lost in a time and place of their own making. Their mutual desire leads them to that unique moment when two become one.

The act is complete and he lies atop her, his heart beating wildly. His body is spent. His heart is fulfilled.

She whispers his name, the emotion raw and unguarded like their lovemaking. He longs to hear his name said that way – always. He will die a happy man if his name is forever on her lips and in her heart.

She strokes his hair and runs her fingers through the thick strands.

He basks in the gentle warmth of her touch, of her being.

His eyes close and for a moment, he drifts, somewhere between sleep and wake. He floats as if at sea then jerks and opens his eyes. He is shocked and bewildered. He cannot believe it. The bed beside him is empty. She is not here.

How can this be? The scent of her hair lingers in the air. Her essence fills the room.

He stares at his pillow, bereft and forlorn. He does not know what to think.

"Frank?"

Her voice. Behind him. Can it be? Is it real?

He feels her hand on his bare shoulder.

"Frank?"

He rolls over.

"Hey," he manages to say as the dream fades from his mind. Already he regrets its loss.

"You slept late this morning," she says and lies beside him.

Her expression is open and honest. Her cheeks flush from the cold.

He almost asks how she came to be here this morning – in his room and on his bed – but he doesn't. However she has come to be here he doesn't care.

He leans over and kisses her.

It is a promise of things yet to come.

* * *

_A/N: This story is dedicated to Cheryl and LazyPanther. Sometimes, dreams do come true._

_Who is Frank with? That is left to the readers' imagination. ;)_


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